


Together Or Not At All

by technoCommander



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Fix-It, M/M, episode 6 spoilers, no russians were harmed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 09:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4215723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technoCommander/pseuds/technoCommander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt decides he is not going to let Vladimir die again tonight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together Or Not At All

**Author's Note:**

> upon finishing Condemned i decided that i did not agree with the ending, so in a fit of sleepless rage i wrote my own

"Let's go."

His voice was trembling from exhaustion and his chest heaved up and down. His hand grasped the door handle but found that it was locked. Shit. Only the harsh sound of his breathing filled the silence of the tunnel until another joined in, making him tilt his head towards the direction. He heard Vladimir coughing, the smell of copper filling the air. The man was losing too much blood.

"There are five more coming, all working for Fisk, probably not even real cops. We don't have time for this."

He turned his head down where he knew the Russian sat and his senses picked up the sound of the man raising a gun. His heart skipped a beat. The gun was pointed at him. So Vladimir was going to kill him, after all. Of course, he thought. He would have thought that maybe saving the other man's life had given him at least a little credit in the mobster's book. 

When Vladimir spoke up his voice was painted with blood.

"I think... maybe I stay."

Matt opened his mouth to reply, protest, say something, but nothing came out. He closed it. When he opened his mouth a second time his voice was tinted with desperation.

"We can still make it out of here, you turn evidence on Fisk-"

"He controls all police judges. There's only one way to stop him, you know this."

Matt shut his mouth and swallowed. Every limb of his body hurt and the sound of armed men approaching got louder with every second that passed. His head was dizzy, probably from a concussion, and his senses were blurry. 

"No." He swallowed again. "I'm not a killer."

Vladimir lowered the gun and put his palm on the floor, supporting his own weight, while his other hand clutched the bullet wound. Slowly, he began to make an effort to stand up. 

"The moment you put on the mask you got into cage with animals," he began and raised his head to look at the man standing before him. "Animals don't stop fighting. Not until one of them is dead."

Vladimir groaned as the white hot pain filled his senses and he grimaced. Matt could feel the heat of blood rushing in the mobster's veins and the adrenaline pumping through his body, giving him the strength to stay alive after practically dying two times in the same night. 

"What Fisk did to me, he will do to you. And he will do it to everyone you care about. Will you feel the same way then? Or will you be man and do what you know you must do? The dermo who controls money, his name is Leland Owlsley. He will give you what you think you want. But it won't be enough. You know that now, don't you?"

The distant sound of rushing footsteps got closer, louder. They were coming. Matt turned his head towards the door and back to the man holding the gun. He could hear his heartbeat.

It was steady.

It was then that he realized two things. The first thing was that the man who had survived an open explosion, the man whom he had almost beaten to death and then brough back to life, was willing to die again. And he was willing to die for him. And he was going to do so without fear, in the heat of battle, with his honor intact and revenge coursing through his system. The thought made him clench his fists and bite his lips because after that came another realization. 

That he was not going to let him. 

"Go."

Matt kicked the door handle and the impact immediately broke the handle off, opening the door. He swung it open but turned away from it, and towards the other man in the tunnel. Vladimir was clenching the wall and was beginning to edge his way towards the stream of footsteps that only got closer by the second.

"What the-"

The man in the mask clasped the mobster's sides and proceeded to lift him up and over his shoulder, the action drawing out a groan of pain from the Russian. He turned again towards the door and started pacing as fast as his condition allowed him to with the extra weight on his back. He kept going, not daring to stop. Every step felt like his body was snapping in half and every breath felt like his last but he kept going. He listened intently to the heartbeat of the mobster who seemed to have lost his consciousness. Come on, he thought. Don't you dare die on me again.

 

\--------

 

He realized he couldn't call Claire upon reaching the front door of his home. He couldn't bring her into this, she already helped the criminal earlier that night and he had a feeling she wouldn't understand him actually bringing the man into his apartment. He barely understood himself. He would have to rely on himself in this situation.

When he opened the door he immediately headed to the sofa where he heaved the Russian off of his shoulders and tried to lower him as gently as he could onto the cushions. As soon as he made sure he was still breathing, he proceeded to remove him of his outfit. Almost clumsily, he fumbled with the bulletproof vest and finally found the strains on it. He shifted the man under him so he could take the vest off of him as carefully as possible. The same went with his undershirt. He haphazardly threw it somewhere behind him and quickly stood up to get some water and a towel from the kitchen, along with a med kit and scissors. For old times sake, he brought with him a bottle of alcohol. His body ached all over and the mask felt too heavy on his already throbbing head so he took that off as well and threw it in the pile of bloody clothes. Taking a sip of the sprite, he bent down and started working his hands. He started on the man‘s face and let his fingers feel every angle, every wound. The Russian had a split lip and a broken nose. His head seemed to have taken some blows as well, as his hair was glued with blood. He wet the towel and gently brushed it down the other man's cheeks, moving onto his chin. He took notice of the mobster's strong jaw and stubble. He moved his fingers over Vladimir's lips where the fresh cut was and he felt his own heartbeat quickening. He decided to ignore this feeling and instead continued to wash the man‘s face. His fingers brushed against a scar that cut down his face, starting from his forehead and down over his right eye socket and ending low on his cheek. This was an old wound, probably acquired with a blunt knife at a place deprived of proper medical assistance, since the cut was clearly never treated. 

He was brought back to his senses when he heard the man below him groan. He stilled, but Vladimir didn't wake up. Matt sighed and dipped the towel into the now dirty bucket of water, then moved the damp cloth to the man‘s torso. Except for the bullet wound, the only damage seemed to be a few broken ribs, and he was sure his skin was covered in dark bruises. He quickly washed any remaining blood off of his torso. He knew that the bullet wound would have to be treated soon, that the bullet had to be extracted. Alone in his cheap apartment there was nothing he could use to relieve the man of the pain or make the amateur surgery easier on him. 

And he would have to rely on the Russian crime lord‘s iron will to stay alive.

His fingers brushed over the wound. It felt ugly, because of the way he had burned it to keep it closed. A slight string of guilt glade over him and he was taken aback. He felt bad for damaging this man‘s body, even if it was to cauterize the wound. And he felt bad for knowing that this was a scar that would never truly go away. Much like the scar on Vladimir's face. 

He shook his head, distracting himself from those thoughts and tried to focus only on the task ahead. He opened the med kit and took out the needle and some stitches. He put them aside for later, and took up the scissors instead. He opened them and brought them close to the wound.

"This is going to hurt a bit." He muttered to the unconscious man lying on his sofa. He steeled himself and stuck the pointy end of the scissors into the flesh, reopening the wound. This got him an immediate response as the crime lord let out a slow hiss of pain, but his eyes remained closed. Matt was thankful the man didn't scream this time like he had in the abandoned factory. A scream in the middle of the already hectic night would have been hard to explain to his neighbors. He kept his breathing steady and put his hand over the hot stream of blood, the smell hitting him at once. He knew exactly where the bullet was. The thought of Claire greatly disapproving entered his mind as he dug his hand into the wound and extracted the bullet. Now that the difficult part was over, patching the skin up was much easier, he had done it so many times before after all. But stitching the wound while listening to Vladimir's pained breaths made it somehow very different from all these times his dad used to come home all beaten up from the boxing ring, his blood dripping from punches that strangers flew at him. This felt like it was his fault.

He tried to murmur soothing words as he grabbed the other man‘s upper half and raised him up to wrap bandages around the wound. Vladimir was still letting out tiny pained sounds, but Matt only took it as reassurance that he was still alive. He laid him back down on the sofa and turned to the kitchen again, this time to get a glass of water that he put down on the table next to the mobster. Only then did he allow himself to feel his own pain and take notice of his own wounds. His muscles were aching and his skin felt like it was burning. He needed to patch himself up and take a bath. Which could wait until the morning. 

With a sigh of exhaustion he walked into his room and let himself fall on his bed. Vladimir was alive and would live through the night, and until tomorrow, that's all that mattered now.

\-----------


End file.
